by Barb Roose | May 4, 2015 | Scripture Devotional, Women's Topics
News flash: According to our culture, thin is in. And, young is, too.
When we scroll through our social media newsfeeds or pretend not reading People or Star Magazine in line at the grocery store, our eyes capture image after image of youth. It’s hard to not notice the two-dimensional, digitized perfection of bright, unlined eyes, silky cellulite-free legs or taut tummies skin coming at us from every direction. We’re seen the photos of Hollywood starlets, barely out of high school, wearing grown-up hair and clothes posing for pictures that capture their shiny, smooth, youthful skin. No wrinkles. No puckers. Just smooth skin. From head to toe. Even if the photos are tweaked on someone’s laptop before posting, those images are evidence of what the message that our culture wants every woman to bathe in and believe: Only young is beautiful.
Once upon a time (not long ago), I bought into that message. When I was young, that message didn’t create any drama in my life. But, the day I turned 35, that message devastated me.
On the day I turned 35 years old, my husband and I were celebrating our wedding anniversary in glorious Grand Cayman. There I stood against the crystalline blue Caribbean waters with the man of my dreams at my side. I gazed at the beauty of my surroundings and slowly, emotionally began to disconnect from it. I could feel the beauty around me, but I could not feel it in me. I began to crumble. Right there in that perfect moment, I covered my eyes and sobbed in the middle of the street. Like an avalanche, my tears tumbled down my cheeks and a great cry rumbled from the pit of my soul, bulldozing through my tender heart and exploding out of my mouth. My anguish was apparent to the concerned tourists that strolled by. I didn’t care. I just leaned against my husband and mourned the fact that I was losing a connection to something that matter to me: youth.
So, I had the ugly cry. Snot. Loud gasps. More snot. Incoherent words. Doubled over. Tissues weren’t going to help and nothing was going to stop it. Once the ugly cry starts, you’re just in until it’s over.
Photo credit: Pinterest
Y’all know what I’m talking about, right. Oh, please tell me that you understand! It may not make rational sense, but I think you get where I’m coming from. If not, let me try to explain my mental math: 35 years old – day before = 34 years, 365 days = Youth versus 35th birthday = You ain’t no spring chicken anymore.
What a difference a day makes, right? Perhaps, your switch flipped at 29, 39, 49 or 69. I was fine at 29. Marginal at 39, but at least better prepared. But, on that day, my 35th birthday, I feared that the Hands of Time was waiting behind some mirror to start smacking me around. Remember getting birthday spanks for each year? I expected birthday slaps, expecting each strike would remove some evidence of my youth with every blow. What would I lose first?
I sobbed as I wondered, “Can I still go for IT?” “Should I still take risks or settle for easy success?” “Will the world listen to an older woman and take her seriously.“ I might have been standing in paradise on my 35th birthday, but in my heart and mind, I was in a abyss.
This photo was captured mid-air during my June 2011 skydive. I survived. Whew.
My devastation stemmed from the fear that my value was diminishing. Would I be enough as I got older? In my heart and mind, my younger years were filled with courageous moments, crazy risks and a sense that anything was possible. As a woman who loved to strap on her courage and clutched taking risks like a teddy bear, I worried that as I aged, I would lose that “let’s do this” abandon that comes with being a young woman. Deep inside, I still had hopes and dreams to achieve. I wondered if I could still build toward those dreams – and new ones – as an older version of the young-at-heart me.
I wish I could tell you that in the last seven years that I’ve settled into the aging process. (Let me save you the math, I’m 42 now). Don’t get me wrong, I love the wisdom that I’ve acquired with age. If I could go back to the younger version of myself and tell her anything, I’d smack her around a little instead. There were too many times when I knew better, but didn’t do better. I’d also tell her not to be in such a doggone hurry and enjoy life a lot more. #buytheshoes #gotoParis #letthekidseatcookiesfordinner
In the last few years, I’ve challenged myself to keep leaping for what’s next. I’ve gone skydiving, completed a survival race, gone on eight overseas missions trips, published a book, completed three very necessary rounds of professional counseling, graduated two kids from high school and so much more. I’ve got my eyes on going to trapeze school at some point in the future. I’m going to learn how to swing through the air (and hopefully, not die.) Why? Just because.
So, the days of my life may be ticking by, but I realized that the number doesn’t determine the quality of my purpose. Only I do.
And you do, too.
Q4U: If fear or money wasn’t an issue, what would you love to accomplish or try out? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Post them in the comments below – and feel free to borrow some ideas from the other comments!
Thanks for stopping by,
by Barb Roose | Apr 11, 2014 | Women's Topics
Samantha leaving for camp this past Monday
So, it’s the end of the school year. Many of you are celebrating kindergarten or high school graduations and every other kind of milestone in-between. If you’ve got a few tissues left and want to keep that nostalgic feeling going, this re-post about letting go of our children grow up is dedicated to you…
This week, my 18-year old daughter, Samantha, has been away at camp. A few months ago, she interviewed to be a 5th grade camp counselor and was thrilled to be selected.
My soon-to-be-graduated senior bolted from my car on Monday with a big smile on her face. As she grabbed her bags and slammed the car door (because SOMEONE doesn’t have her license yet…) Samantha’s final words were: “Have a great week, Mom. Don’t miss me.”
I have missed her this week. And, I’ve also realized that the time is quickly approaching that I will be missing her much more and often. She graduates from high school at the end of next month and my second child will be off to begin her life.
“Don’t miss me, Mom…”
Springtime always reminds me that life is meant to grow and blossom. Even our kids…
Sami, Kate and Abbie – Christmas 2000
When my girls were babies, there was no Facebook or any other social media. Which meant that there was no reason to take weekly photos of my little Roosters spread on a pretty blanket with a chalkboard or ABC blocks with their ages on it.
But, I did have a disposable Fuji camera, y’all. Only 2 out of the 24 pictures ever turned out nicely, but those memories were captured just the same. I’ve got stacks of slightly blurry, kinda dark photos of some very special moments.
First smile…first up-the-back diaper blowout…first jar food…first sleeping in the crib…first ride on the tricycle…first unplanned haircut…
Back then, motherhood was all about getting my children to those “first” moments. “When will they…?” was always on my mind. The thrill of motherhood meant that I couldn’t wait for those “first” moments.
That is, until those “first” moments started to take my girls away from me…
Matt, Kate and Samantha on Kate’s first day of kindergarten. Seems like yesterday…
Mamas, remember those first steps? Remember the moment when your little one let go of your fingers? Your heart burst with pride and fear at the same time. Those first steps away from you were the best and worst moment of your life. As much as you embraced your child’s new journey, there was something deep inside that urged you to push that baby down and tie him or her to a safety seat. Go, go, go…no, stay with me…
Once our kids start moving on their own, it just seems that they are constantly moving away from us. And we want them to go. But, we want them to stay, right?
While writing this post, my oldest daughter emailed me to let me know that she’s going to New Mexico this summer. That’s in addition to her trip to South Korea and two weeks of training. So, this summer, she’ll be home for only five days. Less than 150 hours.
“Don’t miss me, Mom…”
Over the years I’ve discovered that ‘letting go’ is a season all it’s own. We don’t just let go on any given day. Instead, there are many, many letting go moments. Good moments that taste bittersweet. Good moments that make us smile and cry at the same time. Like the last time we nurse our babies or the day we dismantle the crib. Letting go moments when they go on the first sleepover or finish that big project on their own.
The year that my oldest daughter turned 16 was horrible. I knew that one day she would want to drive away without me. In my nightmares and daydreams, I could only think of her getting into a car accident and being taken from me. I didn’t want her to drive, but she insisted on getting her license. Months later, she hoped into the car and drove away on her own. Just like that.
I let go. (And I survived.)
After two decades of parenting, I finally settled into the realization that “letting go” is a season because it takes time for us mamas to do it. We don’t just wake up one morning and feel okay with the speed at which our children are growing up. We’re thrilled when they learn to tie their shoes, ride to the end of the block or stay over night. Yes! But, we struggle against the place that says It’s going so fast… Yep, it is.
And as much as want our kids to burst into independence and find their place in the world, deep in our hearts, we want to tie our children down to keep them close forever. But, we know that’s not love. That’s not what they need. We need to let go.
So, if you are like me and these days your children are growing up, smile. They are doing exactly what you’re nurturing them to do – even if right now they are making decisions that hurt your mama heart. They are taking on the world, whether they are scooting, crawling, walking, running, driving or flying away from you. You can’t always go with them, but your love is indelibly stamped on their lives. They’ll always take a piece of your heart whereever they go.
Samantha graduation on June 1. Photo Credit: Jeff Wirebaugh, MD
This summer, I’ll hold my breath while one piece of my heart criss-crosses the country for a few weeks before heading overseas. Another piece of my heart will cross a high school graduation stage and search for her place in the world (and I’ll embrace my role as an advisor on the sidelines). A third piece of my heart will travel to summer camp and to a lot of sleepovers. Don’t miss me, Mom!
I’ll try not to, honey…
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